The Powers That Be
by CrackinAndProudOfIt
Summary: This is a set of sixteen drabbles  one for each Vala plus Morgoth and Eru  about the involvement of the Valar in LotR. Their reflections, opinions, and overlooked deeds hopefully put a different spin on the events of the Great Years.
1. Lorien

Lórien

"What if we have gotten it wrong?" Irmo crossed his arms and continued pacing across the sward if Lórellin's island.

"Wrong?" Estë questioned softly, "We have debated and debated; this is the only way. He must be there. You know what will happen if he is not."

"I know, I know. But what if it goes wrong? And why to his brother first? Is that not a bit of a...waste of effort?" replied her spouse earnestly.

"Of course not! There is such a thing as awareness...credibility of the dream...heroism, by taking the quest off the shoulders of another..." was Estë's vague response.

"I will grant you that, I suppose, though I see not why any of these factors but credibility _truly_ matters. But what shall I send, anyhow?" queried Irmo.

"A summons, a call. Send him there."

"But how?"

"Have him in a world of darkness, spreading from the East, but put a pale spot of light far to the West. Send a trumpet blast and a call, far-off but clear saying something…something…rhyming!" suggested Estë, a sparkle appearing in her pale blue eyes.

"Like this? 'Seek for the sword that was broken, in Imladris it dwells, there shall be counsels taken…" his voice faltered. The summons left something to be desired.

"Stronger than Morgul-spells, " Estë took up the verse, "There shall be shown a token that doom is near at hand, for Isildur's Bane shall waken and…and…"

"And?"

"The Halfling forth shall stand!" Estë ended triumphantly.

"I think that will suffice," Irmo said decisively, and with that he began to weave his way into the paths of the man of Gondor's dreams.


	2. Aule

Aulë

Even you, Curumo? I deemed you strong, strong enough to counter him and certainly strong enough than to join his service and absolutely stronger than the strongest to resist the power of his device, a device you have not even seen with your own eyes! Oh, Curumo! Why must all of my servants fall?

I suppose it is because I am like unto Melkor, he that seduces you. We share a passion for making, a love for the shaping of Arda, a desire to see the things we create as truly ours, and, yes, in this way to control them, so even as my servants are drawn to me, they are drawn to him. Save with Melkor they are drawn to power.

If they love the art of creation, that could be to some degree a desire for power, I suppose, since one is master of the things of his crafting, their ruler, lord, and king. Alas for our weakness! Even I could not be unaffected, and thus did the Dwarves have being, yet even they, the children of my sin, have remained more faithful to me than my own servants! Why?

Because our passion is far too often a dangerous one.


	3. Varda

Varda

She heard his cry.

Over the seas, across the Straight Path, traveling a world and a half, she heard her name.

It escaped his lips, a last prayer, desperate and feeble. No words were there, no desperate plea-only her name, yet it was enough.

And she answered. She put forth her power, sending him strength. Over the seas, the path, the worlds, she gave him her might. Passing the will to live, her will, she gave all she had, combating the poison, the evil well attempting to consume his soul. Her name had repelled his attacker, pushing back the foe, even weakening the deadly kng.

As her power entered him, so did another thing: hope.

A/N: If you haven't the slightest idea what's going on, I don't blame you; I'm kind of concerned this chapter didn't make a lick of sense. Here's what's happening: Frodo has just been stabbed on Amon Sul and called on the name of Elbereth. This is her response. Sorry for my nonsense!


	4. Vana

Vána

What could the lady of _flowers_ do in such desperate times? The other Valar, their times would come to influence the tides of the world, to protect the Children, to make themselves evident in their lives. But not Vána. How could flowers and little garden plants come to the aid of the Eruhíni?

Such thoughts were flitting through the mind of the gentle Valie when she saw it: he needed herbs. Aragorn was desperately searching for athelas. The Ringbearer's life was on the line, and only the healing herb could properly staunch the wound and hold the Morgul-poison at bay. And Vána saw her opportunity.

She put forth her power, just a little, enough to grow a nice patch of athelas right where she somehow knew the king-to-be was about to turn. Turn he did, and thus was Frodo's life spared.

A smile appeared on the flower-queen's face with the knowledge that she had done her part for the deeds of the Age.


	5. Vaire

Vairë

Shadow and flame: for many a long and fortunate year Vairë's grand loom had been devoid of the elements, but now they returned and the crisis was more dire than many times in the Elder Days.

Vairë's breath grew short and her chest tight as she witnessed the battle from afar; foresighted as she was there was no predicting how this battle would end. Her dexterous fingers guided the threads to match the events of the wide world outside Mandos.

A great white light masked by grey ashes or darkness set aflame, which would conquer? Even the wise and farseeing Valie watched expectantly; the outcome of this battle would determine a crucial fate of Endor.

Olórin jabbed upward at the Balrog, Turgon's sword glittering with a blue fire in his strong hand. The Balrog parried back, striking a hard blow. So the Battle of the Peak progressed, seeming to all below a bizarre storm of perilous lightning atop Zirak-zigil. And ever Vairë wove.


	6. Ulmo

Ulmo

Faith, what an idea! In me they have put their faith, though they know it not. They trust "the River of Gondor" to keep a guard on the body of their fallen comrade, yet I am the River's master. Lord of the Veins of Arda some have called me, and verily they speak the truth. And the Lord of the veins ever knows what passes through them.

I will not fail their faith. Now, as I feel more than see, the solemn grey boat floating, floating ever nearer to the brink of the Falls of Rauros, my hands guide the vessel down their swift and ruinous cascade. A light I set about it, such light as the master of the deeps is able to send forth as the boat sails even further down the Great River. And the boat will be in my hands as it drifts to the Sea and at last comes to its journey's end under the starry sky.


	7. Tulkas

A/N: As the authoress I do have to come to grips with the quality of my work. I will say nothing about the previous chapters, but I should like to give my poor readers a bit of warning about this next chapter. To put it bluntly: _**it fails**_. I realize this, so please don't flame me to tell me so! I've gotta have this chapter, though, so I must post it. Have mercy!

Tulkas

Who does he think he is anyway? He goes and sets himself up out there like he's some kind of ruler, like he has authority to govern, like he's one of us!

At least with Melkor he could actually rival us in power, but this little miscreant, he's just copying his old boss's design! Except this time we can do nothing.

If this was like last time, we'd run out there in a flash and I'd personally shown Aulë's delinquent knave who's in charge! I'd rip him limb from limb, that little scoundrel! If I could only get my hands on him he'd wish he was never created! But I can't and I never will.

Apparently, we're getting old and running out of power, or at least we aren't allowed to act on the Children's behalf in a mighty way. As the Edain wax, supposedly we wane, and the people of Middle-earth are left to decide their own fate. Does that ban compassion and righteous anger? I suppose so.


	8. Orome

Oromë

He had had the highest of hopes for Alatar. That famous day, the day of the great council, he had chosen the blue-clad Maia out of all of his many servants to represent him in the fight against Sauron in the Hither Lands, commanding him to go to the far lands of his beloved East and convince the dwellers therein to stand against the Enemy.

What had happened? With his close friend Pallando he had indeed gone east, and there he had fallen out of all counsel. The istari had disappeared; neither was ever heard from again. Not such was Olórin.

Olórin the high and mighty,Gandalf the Grey, Gandalf the White, Mithrandir, Tharkûn, Incánus; Balrog-slayer and hope-bringer, master of fire, light, and the hearts of all good creatures, now returned in greater power and glory than ever, truly a tool in the hand of Ilúvatar.

But Oromë could not help but feel regret, and yes, even envy. Why? Why had not his own servant stayed faithful to the task at hand? What would Alatar have done against the power of the Dark Lord?

Such are the Istari, he thought, Radagast friend of beasts, Gandalf the great, Saruman the cunning, Pallando the friend, and Alatar the forgotten. He shook his head.


	9. Yavanna

Yavanna

Yavanna watched them. Sitting in a small green clearing in the heart of her beloved Valinórean forest, she saw her children, her Ents, her olvar-come-alive. They debated now as they stood in their ring, deep melodious voices rising and falling like the waves of Belegaer in a hurricane of Ossë's wrath.

They were so close. They wanted to act; they needed to! Too long had they stood aside tame as the power of Isengard stripped them of their homes, their security, their very lives! But still they kept themselves at bay. The risk was so great, but the need was so dire. Would they take the chance?

Yavanna knew they needed one last push, the deciding factor of the last march of the Ents. She closed her eyes and poured out her power. It flowed into the earth: every grain of soil encouraged battle, every blade of grass blood. Arda itself cried out to them, awakening a subconscious ear that was ever apt to listen to its creator. In that moment they decided: Fangorn Forest would go to war.

A/N: Well, if you're reading this you either a) derive an unnatural amount of pleasure from mocking my poor writing or b) possess at least a small amount of tolerance for it. So, you're over halfway through my story (and I bet you're glad!) and I'd like to ask for some feedback. What do you think of the story thus far? Are the Valar in character? Are the events coherent? Does my idea even make sense? I always love hearing from my victims readers, and I'd love to hear whatever you've got for me, be it questions, comments, concrit, advice, anything! Thanks!

-Crackers


	10. Este

Estë

Rest now, little one. Lay down your weary head and rest. Cast aside the trouble and the burden that lie so heavily upon you and sleep.

I send you my peace, to forget the task at hand, for a few minutes, a few hours. Only by peace can strength be procured, so slumber in tranquility, at least for now.

I watch my peace enter your body, and your face begins to glow ever so faintly. Your servant takes note, that faithful friend who will never fail you, a promise not even I can make for the coming stage of your journey, which is why I give you what I have to offer now.

Sweet dreams, my brave one.


	11. Mandos

Mandos

Pathetic creature! Why he was chosen, I shall never know. Nothing more than a broken mind and corrupt soul are left of the Halfling now. Many were the times and chances that I could have used to kill him; alas that it is now too late! The evil has been wrought; the Great Lands shall fall to darkness because of one wretched little being.

Does not Eru know what he has done? I though he had at the least revealed to me that Sméagol was ever to be saved. Have I, Námo, wisest and most clear-sighted of the Valar, misunderstood the will of Him who so gifted me? I suppose I must have, and now the Children will pay for my blindness.

He who bore the Burden lies now cold, stiff, and unconscious on the hard floor of Torech Ungol's outer ledge. None know of the band of Orcs marching, marching ever steadily towards him. They will find him; they will take the Ring, and the Hither Lands will be defeated, that treacherous creature apparently to blame. Nay, blame not the misused tool for the craftsman's folly. I myself am at fault.

A/N: To clear something up… This takes place right after Frodo has been poisoned, quite literally. Sam has not yet taken the Ring, of course, so Mandos thinks the Orcs will use (movie!)Gollum's philosophy: "…and when she throws away the bones and the empty clothes, then we will find it and take it…" I typed it up and realized that wasn't quite obvious.


	12. Manwe

Manwë

Ever you arrive when hope is lost. When light has faded, endurance culminated, you come, and that is my will for you. When I asked Eru permission for your existence, that was my cause.

My bright birds, my eyes in the Hither Lands, beloved of beloved creatures, my Eagles, have always aided the Children. Why should that fact be altered?

And it has not been, not even now, as my farseeing eyes observe you. In you soared, colliding with the Nazgûl, combating their fell steeds, thus saving the faithful Men below from certain doom at the carrion-fowl's poisoned claws. Take courage my servants, this is indeed your master's will for you.

Fight, claw, attack: rend the things of evil from the skies. This is what you were made to do.


	13. Morgoth

Morgoth

I was stripped of everything, glory, power, and raiment, but one thing they took not. Perhaps they could not; even in defeat I was yet more powerful than they. They did not take my sight.

Even now I see, watching and waiting anxiously. My will strives with another inside the creature. He journeyed all the way there, through peril upon peril, to accomplish the task at hand. But he wavers.

The two thoughs strive inside him; mine the path of his nature, his innermost self, greed. He wants it, he desires the power. My servant's device has at last enthralled he whom Sauron feared and the "Wise" blessed. He cannot let it go, not now, after holding it for so long. The other will, that of the higher road, fulfilling his errand, doing what is "right," suffocates as mine conquers..

His mind is made up. He slips it on his finger, claiming the Ring as his own. He succumbs at last to the lust for power, the basest of greeds, and I smile. Indeed I laugh.

_This is not your victory, Halfling, but mine._


	14. Nessa

Nessa

She was in her glade in the woods, practicing her dancing to inaudible music when she found out. Her husband ran to her, shouting her name and laughing. There were tears in his eyes.

"Beloved, what-?" she began, but he cut her off. He picked her up off her feet, spun her around and kissed her.

"Finally, finally!" He spun her around again.

"Dear, what has happened?" she asked calmly once she had been set down.

"Sauron is dead and gone! He's been defeated! Yes! Finally!"

He laughed long and hard, even as he brushed away tears. She, too, began to laugh, and suddenly their voices rose together in a glad song older than the oldest stone of Arda. And as they sang, they danced for joy.


	15. Nienna

Nienna

They would not let him enter.

"A mortal?" they had scoffed, "Nienna, you know that those of the Secondborn are not permitted to enter Aman. They would but wither under our light, no matter how noble the reason for their admittance was. You above all should know this!"

But I insisted. "This is a special case. You know this, all of you know this. Few mortals have endured so much pain in Ages. Few mortals are so in need of healing! If we could only let him, both of them, even, dwell here for the rest of their days, while their souls mend from the Great Evil they unjustly bore! This is necessary! The One permits it."

"And you have spoken with Him?"

"Yes, it is His will."

Even then there was yet debate, but at last they bent their wills and allowed the Ringbearers to enter Valinor.

And I, Nienna, lady of tears, rejoiced indeed.


	16. Eru

Eru

I am called luck. Among many is good fortune my name. I am the single most trusted force in all of the Halflings' deeds. My favour also is "luck," something that is supposedly given by chance. In their darkest hours, they put all of their faith and hope in Me, in luck, unwittingly.

Samwise trusts "luck" to keep his master safe. Again, the Ringbearer and he rely on "luck" to keep them from discovery on the darkling road past Durthang. Always and ever luck! Bilbo is born with a good share of it; he credits the fortune of his adventure to it. Would that they knew My name! Would that they saw Me for who I truly am! Would that My hand was recognized as the instigator, protector, and guiding, overseeing force in their lives!

I am called fate, as well, and among many is coincidence my name. I am the single most blamed and single most thanked force in all of the Halfings' doings and escapades. Are they so blind as not to see My hand for what it truly is? It was not sheer "fate" or "chance" or "coincidence" that guided Bilbo's numb fingers to the One Ring in the jet-blackness of that cavern, that brought Meriadoc and Peregrin to Fangorn at exactly the right moment, and to the right place, that urged Faramir to question shooting the dark creature in the Forbidden Pool, that kept the Orkish arrow from piercing Sméagol straight in the heart. And the list could indeed go on to be as infinite as I am, passing the borders of lands, peoples, times, and ages, of race, background, and level of spirituality. Alas that so few see it! Will My children ever recognize the loving hand of their Father?

~the end~

A/N: (1) The above fic was heavily influenced by my Christian beliefs and worldview, just in case you were wondering. (2) Well, it's finally over! That was the last chapter, so I'd like your thoughts on the story as a whole. What was your favourite (or least favourite) chapter? How was my writing? Were you able to understand the situations in all of the chapters? What can I do better next time? Thanks for reading and reviewing! :D

-Crackers


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